Amorous Deceptophilia
by GBscientist
Summary: Nightbeat presents his findings on the dangerous new trend of femmes falling in love with Decepticons.
1. Problems and Plans

Disclaimer: Transformers is property of Takara-Tomy and Hasbro. I'm just borrowing it.

* * *

"Gentlemechs, I've called you all here to present some research that I was commissioned to undertake by Elita One," Nightbeat said to the premier medics and scientists at Autobot headquarters. "Every decavorn, a small but non-negligible number of femmes leave their homes with the intention of reaching Decepticon territory and are never heard from again."

"Why would they do something like that?" First Aid asked, aghast.

"Approximately 80% of the departed femmes expressed romantic interest in members of the Decepticon high command. While phrases like 'I want to jump Megatron's electrodes' or 'I hope I can have Starscream's sparklings' or 'Soundwave is so dreamy' were not the norm, they were in evidence. I have tentatively labelled this situation Amorous Deceptophilia, but I'm willing to bow to your experience for an official name."

"I think we can all agree that the name will do for now," Ratchet said. No-one contradicted him. "You've obviously done a lot of work here, Nightbeat. Do you have any data on the sort of femmes most likely to run off?"

"I do, indeed, Ratchet. The first type of femme was attracted to strength and direct action, while tending toward submissive roles in their own life. It is more than likely that they had abusive past relationships with mechs. The second type of femme was attracted by physical beauty, verbal skills, and dramatic flair, but distinctly undervalued honesty. The third type of femme wanted a mech who expressed himself through actions and liked sparklings. Unfortunately, these femmes had a tendency to run at the vocaliser."

"How many of the runaways expressed interest in the Decepticon manifesto?" Perceptor asked.

"Remarkably few. One of the common conversational themes among the departed femmes was that they thought they could influence their desired mech towards more moderate behaviour, or that the mech in question was merely misunderstood and needed love to pacify him."

"I think I'm going to purge my tank," Ratchet complained. "Basically each of these femmes was severely delusional."

"I believe that is a safe assessment," Rung, the Autobot chief psychiatrist said.

"The complete report has been downloaded to the medical database. I leave the situation in your capable hands, gentlemechs," Nightbeat said before leaving the room.

* * *

The scientists and medics waited for a couple of minutes after Nightbeat left before resuming debate.

"If a femme ever came into my med bay and mentioned being in love with a Decepticon, I'd smack her in the head with a wrench and hope it knocked some sense into her," Ratchet complained.

"That's…That's barbaric!" First Aid blurted.

"Actually, Ratchet's method has some scientific backing," Perceptor cautioned. "It has been my experience that tiny short-circuits in an individual's processors can lead to highly unusual behaviour. These short-circuits are caused by errant linkages laid down by repair nanomites, foreign object debris like dust, or even conglomerations of inactive nanomites. The former cause often requires microsurgical intervention, but the latter two causes can often be rectified by percussive maintenance."

"Percussive maintenance?" First Aid asked.

"A sharp blow, like a smack," Hoist clarified.

"Or a wrench to the head," Ratchet said with a smug look.

"Less than 40% of spontaneous glitches can be traced to loose object short-circuits," Rung cautioned. "And while delivering smacks can be therapeutic to the practitioner and is the most cost-effective method of ruling out loose object short-circuits, it has a tendency to engender long-term resentment towards the medical establishment. Perhaps we should look at a more comprehensive approach to this problem? Especially given that at least 50% of glitches can be traced to aggregate programming issues, not physical faults."

"Talking through every femme's problems as a way to figure out why she likes Decepticons is going to take too long. We don't have enough psychiatrists to make that work without locking up the 'Con-fanciers until we get a bed open," Ratchet said.

"Perhaps we could redirect the interest of some of the femmes towards Autobots that express traits similar to their preferred Decepticon?" Perceptor suggested.

"Like who?" Ratchet asked.

"Hmm. Femmes attracted to direct and forceful mechs could be pointed towards Sunstreaker or Ironhide," Wheeljack suggested.

"Not Ironhide. Chromia would kill us for that," First Aid cautioned.

"Mechs with stable femme partners are off the list," Ratchet agreed.

"Brawn and Huffer are fairly direct and forceful," Hoist suggested.

"Warpath hasn't had a date in a while," Wheeljack added.

"All good ideas," Rung said.

"What about femmes who like narcissistic drama queens?" Ratchet asked.

"Those aren't the terms I'd use," Rung muttered.

"Tracks," Perceptor, Wheeljack, Hoist, and First Aid said simultaneously.

"Smokescreen would probably fit in that category, too," Wheeljack added.

"Okay. Now we need a mech for the femmes that like the strong, silent type," Ratchet said.

"Omega Supreme easily fits both categories," Perceptor said. "Grimlock is sufficiently strong, but he has a tendency towards boastfulness."

"Prowl might work, too, but he's not very well inclined towards sparklings," Hoist cautioned.

"The only free mech I can think of that really likes sparklings is Blaster, but he's not what you'd call quiet," Ratchet said.

"That's enough of a sample for me to get started with," Rung said. "I'll check through my files to find other candidates for each group. Some of the afflicted femmes aren't going to accept redirection, though. They will be certain that their object of fixation is the only mech for them."

"We can't just let them run off to the Decepticons. Who knows what will happen to them in 'Con hands?" First Aid said.

"If we can sufficiently thin the number of cases by redirection or 'percussive maintenance', there should be sufficient numbers of psychiatrists to treat the rest of the patients with talk therapy or microsurgery, as required. We will, though, have to keep them in protective custody until their treatments are completed," Rung said.

"As long as we can do something for them besides locking them away, I think we have a good start," Ratchet said.

* * *

"You're serious?" Elita One asked.

"Yes ma'am," Ratchet said.

"You actually want to begin a public relations campaign that whores out your own soldiers, while advising my femmes that they should smack around anyone who expresses affection towards a Decepticon?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ratchet repeated.

"And if the affection continues, they should be locked in a psychiatric ward and treated for a major glitch?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ratchet said a third time.

The datapad containing the report flew from Elita's hand to strike Ratchet in the forehead. To his credit, he didn't even flinch.

"This has to be the most patronising, misogynistic, idiotic plan ever to cross my desk, Ratchet. Get out of my office," Elita One growled.

* * *

"So, mighty Megatron, how fares your harem?" Starscream asked in his usual smug squeal.

"Well, thank you, Starscream. For once, one of your idiotic plans has worked," Megatron replied. "These new femmes will help us replenish the ranks of my army, whether they want to or not."

"Provided the three of us keep…busy," Starscream said with a nod to Soundwave.

"Indeed, Starscream," Megatron agreed. "Soundwave, what is your progress with the next phase of the propaganda campaign?"

"Misinformation: Planted," Soundwave answered. "Content: Angsty fanfiction."


	2. Soundwave's Angsty Fanfic

**Author's Note: The following story is written in-character by Soundwave. It is a Decepticon propoganda piece, so please take it in that context.**

Soundwave's Angsty Fanfiction

"What's taking s'darned long with mah energon?" Ironhide demanded. The red Autobot's legendary temper was flaring, making all of the other mechs in the mess hall nervous. One never knew who would get hurt when Ironhide got into this kind of mood.

"H-here is your energon, sir," the waitress said as she took a cube from her tray and placed it in front of Ironhide. Her name was Pyrite. She had black armour with gold highlights, but it was dulled and scuffed from vorns of neglect and harsh treatment.

"Ah'll take that, and this, too," Ironhide said as he grabbed Pyrite's arm with his left hand and then purloined a second cube from her tray.

"Please don't, sir," Pyrite pleaded. "Another mech ordered that and if I don't get it to him, it will be taken out of my ration."

"Well ain't that sad?" Ironhide drawled with mock sympathy as he put down the second cube. "Do ah look like ah care?"

"I-I'll place you on report," Pyrite threatened weakly.

"Don' talk back tah me, femme," Ironhide snarled. He gave her a fierce back-hand slap and then threw her to the floor, spilling the contents of her tray of energon all over her and the floor.

"Pyrite! Look at the mess you've made!" Oilsand said as she emerged from behind the counter. Oilsand was Pyrite's manager. She was coloured a mix of bronze and dark grey, and her armour had few scuffs, proving that she left all the hard work to others. "There'll be no energon for you for the next two solar cycles. Now get a mop and clean up this mess."

"But-but it wasn't my fault," Pyrite stammered before pointing at Ironhide. "He pushed me."

"Nonsense," Oilsand replied. "Ironhide is an upstanding member of the Autobot high command and the personal bodyguard of Optimus Prime. There's no way he would bother with a low-caste like you."

"It's mah word against yours," Ironhide said with a predatory smirk.

"And no court would take the word of a low-caste like you over that of Ironhide," Oilsand dismissed Pyrite before addressing Ironhide directly. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I would employ serving drones here instead of low-castes, but the regulations say everyone has to be given the opportunity to work. The drones don't talk back and they spill less than the likes of _her_."

"Ah understand. We've all got ahr burdens to bear for the greater good," Ironhide said.

Pyrite missed out on the rest of the conversation as she picked herself up off the floor and went to the storage room to get a mop.

When Pyrite returned to her quarters at the end of her shift, she was exhausted. She was low on fuel and needed to recharge badly, but there were still things to be done at home. She was met at the door by her turbohound, Rocket, whose tail wagged furiously at the sight of her.

"Hello, Rocket. At least you appreciate me," Pyrite said as she knelt down to pet Rocket. She realised that she had better get moving, or she would fall into recharge right there, so she stood up and went to fetch Rocket's dinner. Rocket received a bowl of kibble made of metal filings and energon sludge. It was not very healthy for a turbohound, but it was the best she could afford. Her tank was so empty that the kibble looked appealing even to her, but she would not steal food from Rocket, so she set the bowl down and retreated to her berth.

Pyrite's quarters were only a single room, with a table and some chairs by the door, some cabinets in the middle to give an illusion of privacy, and a bed tucked back in the corner. On a small table next to the bed sat a barely functional datanet terminal that Pyrite had saved up for a meta-cycle to afford.

Pyrite flopped herself down on her berth while Rocket ate. She pulled the terminal over to her and navigated to the Autobot Security site. There, she logged a complaint against Ironhide for his behaviour in the mess hall. Prime's bodyguard or not, Ironhide would answer for his mistreatment of Pyrite. Or so she thought.

* * *

The next solar cycle, Pyrite received no energon rations as punishment for spilling the tray of cubes, just as Oilsand promised. The solar cycle after, Pyrite was finally allowed to refuel again. Her prolonged hunger made even the poor quality energon allotted to low-castes taste good. She had been at work for only a couple of cycles when a pair of burly mechs intercepted her.

"Are you Pyrite?" The yellow one demanded harshly while the nearly identical red one smirked nastily.

"Yes, sir," Pyrite said meekly.

"Optimus Prime has called a hearing into your complaint. Accusations against the high command are taken _very seriously_."

"May I tell my manager that I have to leave?"

"She was already informed by comm. You will be docked pay for the portion of your shift that you miss."

"I guess that's fair," Pyrite said as she hung her head.

"It's more than fair. It's probably more than a low-caste like you deserves," the red one said with a predatory smile as he put his hand on her aft. "But if you come by my quarters later, we'll work out a way for you to make up the lost wages."

"Sideswipe, that's disgusting. Watching your normal antics is bad enough, but if you bring a low-caste back to our quarters, I'll rip your interface port out," the yellow one threatened. Then he glanced at Pyrite. "And if you take him up on it, I'll find out. You won't like what happens then. Follow me." He strode out of the mess hall at a pace Pyrite could barely match, while the red one brought up the rear.

"Oh, come on, bro," the red one said as they made their way deep into the high security areas of Iacon. "I need to go slumming once in a while just to test out Ratchet's latest anti-virus patch. Who knows what a turbominx like this one is carrying."

"I-I tested clean last time I was at the medic," Pyrite offered.

The yellow one glared at her in a way that made her fear for her life.

"Suuure you did," the red one said dismissively.

If any further conversation passed between her guides on the way to the hearing, Pyrite didn't register it because she was too intimidated and ashamed.

* * *

The room set out for the hearing was imposing, to say the least. Optimus Prime sat upon a throne on a raised dais that loomed over the room. Prowl stood at the base of the dais. On either side of the room were two tables that faced each other. At one table were Ironhide, Chromia, and Red Alert. At the other table were Beachcomber and Moonracer. The red mech guided Pyrite to the table with Beachcomber and Moonracer.

"Don't look so spazzed out, little femme," Beachcomber said in a way that left doubts about how far out of recharge he really was. "Me and Moonbeam'll show The Mech that you didn't mean to harsh on his vibe."

"For the last time: My name is Moonracer, not Moonbeam," Moonracer hissed.

"Harsh on his vibe? What does that mean?" Pyrite asked. She was getting an increasingly bad feeling about this whole hearing.

"It means that calling the word of a member of the high command into question is a serious matter," Moonracer cautioned. "Honestly, your best defence at this point would be to admit your mistake and retract the accusation."

"Defence? But I didn't do anything!" Pyrite yelped.

"Quiet!" Prowl demanded. "This hearing into the matter of Pyrite versus Ironhide is now in session. Pyrite, what do you allege occurred?"

"He, um, Ironhide grabbed me by the arm, slapped me, and then shoved me to the floor," Pyrite said slightly unsteadily.

"I told you to apologise," Moonracer hissed.

"No way we're gonna get the narc off your case now, sister," Beachcomber lamented to himself.

"I see," Prowl said. "Ironhide, what do you say occurred?"

"The femme got mah order wrong, so ah tried to get her attention," Ironhide said evenly. "She got all hysterical when ah took the cube ah ordered and when ah tried to calm her down, she threw herself on the floor."

"Your testimony is noted, Ironhide," Prowl said. "Red Alert, please play the footage of the incident."

"Yes, sir," Red Alert agreed. A monitor on the wall opposite Optimus activated and showed a film of what happened. Unfortunately the camera was situated behind Ironhide and it didn't get a clear shot of him slapping Pyrite, or of her being shoved to the floor.

"Were there any other cameras that got views of the incident, Red Alert? This footage is completely inconclusive," Prowl stated.

"There were, but someone hacked the server and corrupted the footage," Red Alert complained.

Pyrite noticed that Ironhide and Chromia were smiling at each other while Chromia draped herself all over Ironhide. It struck Pyrite as completely inappropriate for the venue, but no-one else complained or even noticed.

"That is most unfortunate," Prowl said. "What conclusion do you draw from this?"

"She's a Decepticon spy out to kill us all!" Red Alert blurted as he pointed at Pyrite. Pyrite was shocked into silence. "She accused Ironhide without evidence to make high command look bad. She even wears black paint! That's a Decepticon colour!"

"Thank you, Red Alert, you may leave now," Prowl said.

"I don't think I should be leaving you here with that Decepticon assassin," Red Alert said.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Prowl appeased the security director.

"Well, if she does kill you all, it's not my fault," Red Alert said as he exited the hearing room.

"Despite Red Alert's histrionics, the verdict here is very clear," Prowl said. "Pyrite, you have needlessly slandered an Autobot officer in a failed attempt to conceal your own incompetence. You will be transferred to Border Outpost Sigma 6 where you will be part of the waste management detail. Do you agree with the sentence, Prime?" Prowl asked. Optimus Prime did not reply. His optics were off and his head rested against his chest. "Prime!"

"Hmm? Wha?" Optimus asked as he came out of recharge. "What was the question again, Prowl?"

"Do you agree with sending the offending femme to an outpost to work in waste management?"

"Yes, of course. Whatever you think is appropriate, Prowl. Just get it done quickly and don't bother me with the details," Optimus said before nodding back off into recharge.

"You will depart for your new posting next solar cycle, Pyrite. Until then, you are confined to quarters," Prowl said finally. "Case closed."

Pyrite found herself too stunned to move. She had come here thinking herself the plaintiff, but found herself punished. Chromia sauntered over to Pyrite's table while Beachcomber and Moonracer cleared up their datapads.

"You see what happens when you mess with your betters?" Chromia asked rhetorically. Ironhide walked over and Chromia put her arm around his shoulder while he put his arm around her hip. "Maybe someday you'll find yourself a big, strong mech like my Ironhide to defend you. Until then you'll be nobody and nothing." With that, Ironhide and Chromia exited the room, not walking with each other as much as welded together in a very intimate manner.

Pyrite was finally taken to her quarters by the same mechs that brought her to the hearing room. Just before they locked her in, the red one had to have his final say.

"Too bad about your confinement. Maybe we can hook up when I'm at Sigma 6 sometime. If I remember that you exist."

Pyrite started to sob and collapsed to the floor. She had tried so hard to live up to the standard Optimus Prime set. No-one appreciated how she had stepped up to the call for all castes to set aside their traditional roles and work for the greater good. She was glad her parents and brother weren't around to see her now. Pyrite even went so far as to wish she had never left Polyhex to seek a better life in Iacon. Maybe if she had stayed, she would be with them now in the Matrix instead of living out this nightmare.

Pyrite's misery was interrupted when Rocket whined and nudged her with his nose.

"Okay, Rocket," Pyrite said as she wiped her eyes. "We've still got each other. That's enough for me." Pyrite picked herself up and went to the cabinet to get Rocket some kibble. After that was done, she settled down on her berth to find out about Border Outpost Sigma 6 from the datanet.

The situation at Sigma 6 was even worse than she had imagined. The outpost was commanded by a trio of energon-swilling drunks names Sizzle, Fizzle, and Guzzle. They were said to have such poor maintenance that they shot sparks from their engines when they transformed into their alternate modes. On top of that, the outpost had a dreadful survival record. It had been levelled twice by the Decepticons, with only a handful of survivors each time. It just so happened that all the casualties of both attacks were bots considered disloyal or embarrassing to the Autobot cause. With what Prowl had said about her, Pyrite didn't rate her chances of surviving a Decepticon attack at Sigma 6 very highly. Maybe she would get to join her family in the Matrix soon, after all.

Pyrite rolled over to face away from her datanet terminal and was about to go into recharge when the incoming message chime sounded from the terminal. Pyrite was surprised because the only messages she ever got anymore were her schedules from her shift manager at the mess. Surely Oilsand had been informed of Pyrite's reassignment, and the old femme never sent comm messages at this hour. Pyrite rolled back to face the screen and opened the message. The contents were more surprising than just getting the message. It was an invitation, a plea in fact, for Pyrite to escape from Iacon and make for Decepticon territory, and it was from Zirconia and Siliconstar.

Zirconia and Siliconstar were the only two friends Pyrite had made in Iacon, but several meta-cycles ago, they disappeared. Pyrite had always wondered what happened to her two friends, and now she had her answer: They had run off to Decepticon territory and found themselves strong, caring mechs. But how did they know Pyrite was in trouble? The message said a guide would meet her when she left the city and that the way was clear. Could she really do this? Could she really run away from the life she had built here? Seeing as she was about to be evicted anyway and sent to a death-trap posting, Pyrite felt she didn't have any choice.

"Come on, Rocket, we're going for a long walk," Pyrite said as she stood from her berth. Rocket looked up and wagged his tail in anticipation. Pyrite tucked her datanet terminal and her few other meagre belongings into her subspace pocket and walked to the door. She took a deep intake of atmosphere and steeled herself. This was the point of no return. Once she violated her confinement to quarters, she might as well keep running. On the other hand, if the message was false, the door would still be locked. Pyrite pressed the door latch button. The door opened.

Not yet confident of the gift of her freedom, Pyrite stuck her head out the door and peered both ways down the hall. There was no-one else around. Gathering her courage, she stepped through the doorway. Rocket bolted through the door and stood in the hall, staring at her expectantly.

"Okay. Let's do this," Pyrite said to herself as she began the walk from her former quarters to the gate of Iacon.

* * *

Pyrite passed several mechs in the halls on her way to the gate, but none of them questioned her. It was probably because none of them thought a femme that looked that beaten-down would have the courage to violate regulations. The gatehouse, where guards sat in constant vigil over the gate controls, was a point in the plan that Pyrite thought was going to be a problem, but as she approached the gate, she saw it was slightly open. Getting even closer to the gatehouse, Pyrite could see that the two guardmechs on duty were slumped over the controls in recharge. Pyrite decided not to question her luck and slipped through the gap in the gate with Rocket in tow.

Once outside of Iacon's protective wall, Pyrite transformed into her alternate mode. Her transformation was slow and painful because she hadn't used her alt mode in a very long time. She looked even worse in her light truck alternate mode because the scratches and dents that adorned her armour looked like a weave of scuffs in this form. Rocket ran along-side her for a ways, until they were both startled by a screech from above.

Hovering above them was a black and red silhouette that Pyrite had been taught to fear. She swerved as Rocket barked at the flying shape that had scared her. The frightful Decepticon landed a short way ahead of her and folded its wings. It sat there regarding her.

Pyrite took a moment to gather her wits. If this dangerous-looking thing, probably the infamous Decepticon infiltrator, Laserbeak, had meant to do her harm, it would have done so without announcing itself. She transformed and took a hesitant step towards the diminutive flyer. Laserbeak hopped toward her, in return. Pyrite held her ground and hesitantly extended her hand. Laserbeak took another hop forward and examined Pyrite's hand. Finding it acceptable, Laserbeak nodded. Pyrite smiled, but this small moment of joy was not to last.

"Hey! What are you doing down there?" A mech demanded from atop the wall. "Is that Laserbeak?"

Laserbeak cawed and took to the air as Pyrite and Rocket started running away from Iacon. He circled Pyrite, indicating that she should follow him.

"Alright!" Pyrite yelled to Laserbeak before transforming while running. She had never made such an aggressive transformation, but it felt exhilarating. Rocket jumped into her cargo bed so as not to be left behind. The trio sped away into the distance while the guard took a moment to report that yet another femme had escaped Iacon.

* * *

Pyrite drove for almost two solar cycles straight. She was hungry and exhausted as she approached Decepticon territory, but she would not stop until she made it there. Laserbeak had settled next to Rocket in Pyrite's cargo bed and the two of them had taken turns watching for any pursuit while the other recharged. Pyrite was finally starting to feel like she had some sort of freedom, some chance of making the decisions that would guide her life for herself, when the ground exploded in front of her.

"Well, well. It's not every day that a boring border patrol turns up gold," a green mech said as he strode out from behind some rubble.

"Yeah. I think this is the run-away that Bluestreak reported yesterday," a small yellow mech said as he slunk out from the shadow of a second pile of refuse.

"Get out the stasis cuff, Bumblebee, we'd better get her trussed up quick and haul her back to Iacon."

"Aw, but Hound, this has been such a dull patrol. Why don't we have some fun with her?" the yellow one, Bumblebee, whined to the green one, Hound.

"No, Bumblebee. You know Prowl don't take kindly to rank and file soldiers just havin' their way with Autobot femmes without permission."

"What if she never made it back to Iacon? Run-aways do offline resisting arrest fairly often. . ."

"You might just have an idea there, my friend. Get out the stasis cuffs anyway; I don't fancy gettin' kicked in the family transistors."

"Sure thing," Bumblebee said with a turborat-like smile as he pulled a two pairs of stasis cuffs from his subspace compartment and advanced on Pyrite's still form. Pyrite was still in her alt mode, but she had landed on her left side. Several of her armour panels were severely dented and her front bumper was scorched from the explosion. Bumblebee began to manually transform Pyrite back to her base mode so that he could put the stasis cuffs on her, which woke her up.

"Wha? What's happening? What are you doing to me?" Pyrite asked groggily as she slowly transformed back to her base form, pinching Bumblebee's fingers in the process.

"This one's got some fight left in her after all," Hound commented.

"I'm glad. It's so much more fun when they're awake," Bumblebee agreed as he started to put the first set of cuffs on her wrists. He was interrupted by a laser blast hitting his leg.

"What the Pit?" Bumblebee exclaimed as he looked up just in time for Laserbeak to rake Bumblebee's face with his talons. "Arrgh!" the yellow Autobot exclaimed.

"Looks like we got ourselves a cyberturkey shoot as well as a femme friend," Hound before opening fire on Laserbeak.

"Laserbeak! Go get help!" Pyrite shouted as she got to her feet. Laserbeak seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then veered away after a near miss from Hound's fusillade.

"Now that the bird's flown the coop, you think you can handle the little lady?" Hound asked Bumblebee.

"Sure I can," Bumblebee said before advancing towards Pyrite again.

"What are you going to do with those stasis cuffs?" Pyrite asked, backing away from Bumblebee.

"You don't want to fight me. Things will be so much easier for you if you don't fight back," Bumblebee replied darkly.

"You – You didn't answer my question," Pyrite said. She continued to back away from the creepy little Autobot.

"All the femmes they just think I'm 'cute little Bumblebee', but they never want to be more than 'just friends'. They all want a taller mech, like Tracks, or Bluestreak, or Inferno," Bumblebee ranted. "I've got needs, too, you know. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a good interface?"

"I – I've got no idea," Pyrite stammered.

"I can't remember, myself," Bumblebee admitted. "But we're going to have a good time, pretty femme," he snarled and lunged at Pyrite, only slam into the ground when Rocket appeared out of no-where and ripped out the tensor cable from the back of Bumblebee's damaged leg. "Primus damn you, you stupid mutt!" Bumblebee shouted before firing off a few blasts at Rocket, all of which missed.

"Rocket, come on! We've got to get out of he..Ooof!" Pyrite shouted as she started to run towards Decepticon territory, but she was cut off by Hound tripping her.

"What's your hurry, pretty femme? My friend and I were just about to show you a good time," Hound said. He glanced back at Bumblebee who was rolling on the ground and cursing. "Never send a minibot to do a mech's job." Hound lifted Pyrite off the ground by her neck with his right hand and looked her up and down. "I like my femmes with bigger pectoral projections, but you'll do."

"No, please, don't. I'll do anything," Pyrite begged.

"Hah! You'll do anything anyway!" Hound's left hand went to the interface port cover at the base of Pyrite's neck and popped it open. He was just extending his interface probe from his wrist when Rocket clamped his jaws down on Hound's right elbow, causing him to drop Pyrite. Hound was faster and tougher than Bumblebee and managed to grab Rocket by the neck before the turbohound could escape. "I'd say any turbohound that attacks a mech must be rabid. And rabid turbohounds get Put Down." With each of his last two words, Hound fired into Rocket's chest with the blaster that had reappeared in his hand. Hound casually tossed Rocket aside like a piece of refuse.

"Rocket! Noooo!" Pyrite cried. She wanted desperately to go to her companion, but Hound was between her and Rocket.

"Now where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?" Hound asked as he loomed over Pyrite. "Now I remember…"

Whatever Hound's dishonourable intentions were, they were lost as Hound and everyone else in the vicinity was disabled by a high-pitched harmonic warble.

"Leave the femme alone," a cold, synthesised voice cut through the incapacitating noise.

"It's Soundwave! Let's get out of here!" Bumblebee wailed as he transformed and fled.

"Stand your ground like a real mech!" Hound shouted, but he was driven to his knees by the sound, and had no choice but to escape before it the Soundwave could capitalise on his weakness.

Once the two Autobots had fled, Soundwave emerged from his cover. Despite the disabling noise, Pyrite had managed to drag herself over to Rocket and now cradled him in her lap. Soundwave made his way over to them.

"It'll be okay," Pyrite said consolingly to her terminally damaged friend. "You'll be just fine."

Rocket, lifted his head one last time, whimpered and then lay still. The lights of his optics dimmed and went black. Pyrite began to sob and found herself unable to stop as the colour drained from Rocket's body, leaving a grey corpse.

"Termination of pet: Tragic," Soundwave said as he knelt down next to Pyrite and placed a consoling hand upon her shoulder. "Sorrow: Shared." Pyrite and Soundwave sat in silent mourning for half a cycle, until Soundwave's sensors reported movement coming towards them from Autobot territory. "Autobot reinforcements: Inbound. Departure: Necessary," Soundwave said as he stood.

"Just-Just leave me. I'm too damaged to keep up," Pyrite stayed on the ground, staring into the dirt.

"Negative," Soundwave gathered her up into his arms and launched into the air. He carried her deep into Decepticon territory, far away from the sorrow and injustice that had scarred her to a happy and fulfilling life with him. And they lived happily ever after.


	3. Hostile Reviews

Starscream walked into the control room of Kaon's main fortress and looked around. Spotting his quarry, he advanced, datapad in hand.

"Soundwave, this is not your writing," Starscream accused the communications specialist while brandishing the pad like a weapon. "This 'angsty fanfiction' of yours doesn't sound like you in any way."

"Affirmative," Soundwave agreed. "I outlined the plot. Grammar: Lacking. Beta Reader: Shockwave."

"Shockwave?" Starscream asked in surprise as he glanced over at the mech in question. Shockwave's expressionless single optic peered back. "Why would he accept your plotline without suggesting himself in a heroic role?"

"I have no interest in the adulation of the sort of silly femmes this story will attract," Shockwave said as he waved dismissively at the datapad in Starscream's hand. He noticed his name come up in conversation, so he had walked over to defend his writing skills. "If I wanted any femme at all, she would have to be stable and intelligent, not the flighty and emotional type that falls for this sort of cheap ploy. In fact, I have little time for any femme in the first place; Logic is my true mistress."

"Then why waste your time editing the story at all? Why didn't you just tell Soundwave to take a hike?"

"Soundwave offered to, um, return something that Ravage, ah, found. It was very dear to me, so I took him up on his offer."

"He had blackmail material on you, didn't he?"

"Nothing of the sort! And even if he did, you wouldn't goad me into revealing its content to you with such an infantile ploy."

"Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. Now that I have both of your attention, I want you to know that I've posted a review on the fiction server, and it is not complementary."

"Why?" Soundwave asked.

"Because I don't like you, of course," Starscream replied snidely.

"No, he means what was uncomplimentary about the review," Shockwave clarified.

"Affirmative," Soundwave agreed.

"Oh, well, the story was a complete downer right up to the incredibly abrupt ending. The characterisation of the Autobots, while quite entertaining, was totally unbelievable to anyone with half a processor. And the names were stupid. Pyrite, Rocket, Zirconia, and Siliconstar? Really? I'm sure you could have done better if you put a cycle of effort," Starscream dropped the datapad on the console between Soundwave and Shockwave and marched out of the control room.

"Operation Literature: Successful," Soundwave assessed.

"Indeed," Shockwave agreed.

* * *

"I've been looking all over for you," Prowl said to Ironhide with a pointed finger. "What on Cybertron are you doing?"

"Ah'm getting' geared up to go Decepticon huntin'. It's what one usually does in the Armoury, after all," Ironhide replied gruffly.

"I can see that. Why?"

"There's a nasty story goin' round the datanets. Soundwave wrote it. Ah'm gonna kill 'im."

"I read the story. It is rather disturbing, and quite poorly written, but is it really necessary to kill Soundwave for offending your honour?"

"It's not mah honour Ah'm gonna kill 'im for offending, it's hers," Ironhide said as he pointed across the armoury to his sparkmate, Chromia. She took that as her cue to enter the conversation.

"I'm going along to defend his honour. Nobody gets to paint my Ironhide as an abusive jerk," Chromia said.

"And nobody makes mah Chromia as a bitchy floosy," Ironhide said.

"And I suppose the rest of you have grievances with Soundwave over your characterisations in the story, as well?" Prowl addressed the other Autobots outfitting themselves with heavier-than-usual weaponry.

"Yes. Soundwave made me out to be an opportunistic pervert," Hound said coldly.

"He said I was a r-r-rape. . . I just can't say it, Prowl. It's too awful," Bumblebee stammered. He was obviously on the edge of tears.

"It's okay, little buddy, we all know you're a good 'mech," Hound consoled his friend.

"Soundwave actually described me pretty accurately," Sideswipe admitted. "I'm just going along for fun!"

"Same here," Sunstreaker agreed.

"I don't suppose there's any way I can change your mind," Prowl said, addressing Ironhide again. He ignored the sound of the door opening behind him.

"Nope," Ironhide replied.

"I'll go see if I can get your little hunting expedition cleared with Prime, then," Prowl sighed.

"No need," Optimus Prime said from behind Prowl, causing the strategist to jump in surprise. Prowl spun around to face his commander, but Optimus had already started walking towards the gun rack to get extra attachments for his Ion Blaster.

"You're going along, too?" Prowl asked.

"We both are," Elita-One said, emerging from behind another gun rack with a rocket launcher.

"Why do I even bother?" Prowl asked rhetorically before throwing up his hands and wandering out of the room.

* * *

"This is a big problem," Red Alert admitted. "We've got a fifth column of romantically delusional femmes forming in the middle of our bases."

"Not to mention that some of our best fighters and our commanding officers were goaded right into a trap," Ratchet said. "They wouldn't have gotten out of there with their skidplates intact if they hadn't been so heavily armed to start with."

"So we're agreed that we need a solution. Any suggestions?" Prowl asked.

"Would some counter-propaganda painting Autobot warriors in a heroic light be an effective counter-measure?" Wheeljack proposed.

"It may have a beneficial effect upon the current situation," Rung admitted. "But we must be certain that the subjects of this fiction are emotionally and mentally capable of handling the femme attention that we will be directing at them."

"I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable with this," Optimus Prime said from his medbay bed, the foot of which the other five 'mechs were standing at.

"I was against this before, but it's the only reasonable idea we have right now," Elita-One admitted from her bed, which was right beside Optimus' bed.

"I'll hand the request over to Blaster and Jazz. We'll wait and see what they come up with before proceeding further," Prowl said. "Is that sufficient, Prime?"

"Do it," Optimus ordered wearily.


End file.
